


Take My Breath Away

by Kenda1L



Series: Soul Tattoo AU [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety, BDSM, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Choking, Daddy Kink, Discussion of PTSD, Discussions of Bottom Shiro, Dom Shiro (Voltron), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kink Negotiation, M/M, MINOR Allurance, Non-sexual Overstimulation, Paladins as family, Praise Kink, SHEITH - Freeform, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shenanigans and Celebrations, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sub Keith (Voltron), Subdrop, The kinkiest of kinks: love and affection, They're Both In Regular Therapy Too Though, Top Shiro (Voltron), erotic asphyxiation, is that a thing? it is now, slight somnophilia, soul mark au, tattoo artist au, therapeutic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-04-23 00:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenda1L/pseuds/Kenda1L
Summary: The day Keith’s ankle monitor is removed comes with more excitement than his graduation. His friends throw him a party, complete with streamers, cake, and choreography. Shiro, however, has other plans for celebration. (Oneshot sequel to I’ll Tattoo My Soul on You)***Shiro pulls Keith flush against his front. Keith blushes, heart kicking up. Their relationship has been… nebulous. They’ve been going slow, doing solo and couples therapy. They’ve become friends; friends who touch far more often and far more intimately than the normal bounds of friendship usually dictate. They’ve kissed once or twice, but it had devolved so quickly into more that they’d mutually decided it would be better to hold off. Being intimate when there was such a power imbalance between them is something neither of them wants.Except there’s no longer a power imbalance, Keith realizes. Shiro seems to come to the same conclusion. His eyes darken as they flicker down to Keith’s lips. Keith’s eyes widen as Shiro licks his own lips slowly. “Hey,” Shiro says with a quiet smile. His hand presses more firmly into Keith’s lower back.“Hey."
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Soul Tattoo AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593127
Comments: 48
Kudos: 329





	Take My Breath Away

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the one-shot epilogue for I'll Tattoo (My Soul on You). If you haven't read that, then, uh. You'll probably [want to.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074709/chapters/52681210) A lot of this won't make sense otherwise.
> 
> I gotta say, this did not go where I expected it to, but I kind of love it. Thank you to everyone who gave me kink suggestions. This would literally not be the same story otherwise.

The click of Keith’s ankle monitor being released feels like breathing out a long sigh. The slightly stale air in Iverson’s office feels like a fresh breeze on Keith’s sweaty skin, a balm on the vague, itchy claustrophobia plaguing him for the last two and a half years. His ankle looks strange without it, bare and bony. Vulnerable. 

Anxiety he hadn’t expected swirls through him. He’s free, unwatched and untethered. There’s nothing to stop him from going back to his old ways, if he really wanted to. Nothing to stop him from running. His breath hitches painfully in his lungs. He looks around the room wildly, seeking an anchor.

He finds it in Shiro’s warm, gray eyes. Keith’s heart and hands steady under Shiro’s sunshine smile; relief bubbles up and buoys him as Shiro pulls him out of the chair and wraps him in a hug that crushes Keith’s lungs, then gentles and becomes a relaxing sway. It’s a reset button—Keith’s last shuddery breath evens out and stabilizes. He curls further into Shiro’s arms, listening to Shiro’s heart beat in a steady drumbeat. Keith’s Soulmark pulses in time.

Keith reluctantly pulls away. He still has some papers he needs to sign before they go home.

_ Home_, he thinks in a daze as he initials and signs wherever Blayz points. He gets to go home. Not because he has a curfew, or because someone will come knocking if he’s not where they expect him to be, but because that’s where he wants to be. Home, to his friends and family and Shiro, to the party they think he doesn’t know about. Home, as a free man with a soulmate, a legitimate job, and ties to the community. A life where he’s not constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Perhaps there are a few things to keep him from running after all.

***

Keith tries to act shocked when he opens their apartment door and everyone jumps out of their hiding spots, shouting, “Surprise!” He fails miserably. It’s just too hard to hide the grin so wide it stings the corners of his mouth and makes his cheeks ache.

Lance droops out of his dramatic pose. “Aww, who told him?” he whines. 

Keith rolls his eyes. “All of you. For ex-criminals, none of you are sly.”

Lance gasps and points a finger at him. “Rude!”

“Accurate,” Pidge corrects. Lance blows a party horn at her; the end flickers against her nose. She pushes him away with a dirty look. A laugh bubbles up out of Keith’s chest, heady and effervescent. He hardly cares that people are staring as he giggles into his hands. He’s _ happy. _

“Aww, no, he’s broken,” Zethrid complains from the couch she hadn’t bothered to rise from when Keith came in. She grabs Ezor around the waist and tugs her down to sit on her lap. “Ezor’s the giggly one, find another shtick.”

Keith just laughs harder, the sound taking on a wild edge as he spirals higher, overwhelmed.

Shiro’s hands are a heavy heat on Keith’s shoulders, smoothing the intensity of his emotions and bringing him back down. Keith leans back into them instinctively, covering Shiro’s hands with his own as Shiro guides him through the doorway so he can close it behind them. Keith’s giggles fade into a fond smile. He shakes his head. “Trust me, I will never challenge Ezor’s rightful place as the cheerful one.”

“Hey now, don’t go making promises you can’t keep,” Hunk says as he approaches with a couple red Solo cups in hand. “They haven’t seen you drunk yet.” He shoves both cups at Shiro, then wraps Keith up in one of his patented Hunk Hugs, lifting him up off the ground and shaking him. “Wow, buddy, have you lost weight?” he teases. “How much did that ankle monitor weigh?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Cute,” he wheezes, but wraps his own arms around Hunk after he’s set back down. 

“Group hug!” Pidge shouts. Keith _ oofs _ as Pidge and Lance descend on him, then again as Shiro and Allura add themselves to the pile. Keith is wrapped up in the middle, bodies crushing him in on all sides. It’s the best kind of claustrophobia.

Eventually, they let him go but he barely has the chance to feel the lack of body heat before he’s getting hugs from Matt, then Colleen and Sam who must have flown in for the occasion. He gets a hug from Ezor, an awkward pat on the shoulder from Axca, and a slightly too hard punch in the arm from Zethrid. Kolivan shakes his hand with a rare smile. “I am proud of you,” he says quietly. 

The words make Keith’s eyes prickle and his cheeks flush. “Thank you,” he says roughly. Kolivan nods solemnly and pretends not to see Keith swipe a sleeve over his eyes before Blaytz nudges in and pumps Keith’s hand up and down enthusiastically.

There are others too, former classmates he hadn’t hated, a few colleagues from SEB, far more well-wishers than Keith ever could have imagined a few years ago. Every time it starts to seem like too much, Shiro is there with a quiet touch to his shoulder or his lower back or hip, and calm settles over him again. He drinks the fizzy punch Hunk made and sinks happily into tipsy contentment.

He’s surprised to see Iverson there as well. The man dislikes him slightly less than the other SEB higher ups, but he never would have called them friendly. 

Either Iverson has a very different opinion or he’s had more of Hunk’s punch than is wise because he tromps up to Keith and Shiro with ruddy cheeks and a surprising grin. He claps Keith on the back hard enough to send him stumbling forward a step. “Kogane! A free man at last, eh?”

Keith glances sidelong at Shiro, who has a hand over his mouth and smiling eyes. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by his superior’s cheer. Keith turns back to Iverson. “Yes, sir.”

Iverson nods sagely. “Good, good. You know, I always knew you were a good egg.”

Keith’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “You did?” he asks skeptically. 

Iverson keeps nodding. Keith is surprised he’s not dizzy. “I did. Just ask Shirogane here. Remember?” He looks at Shiro, who nods back, playing along. “I told him, long time ago too, when I first assigned him to you, I told him—this kid is smart. And good. And I said, it’s too bad, because you could really do things, you know? If you were on our side.”

“He did,” Shiro says.

“I did.” Iverson leans forward like he’s going to tell a secret even though he doesn’t lower his voice at all. “I have to tell you, I didn’t think he’d catch you. None of us did.” He winks. “You’re case was our little initiation. It got passed to all the newbies until _ this _ guy,” he shoves Shiro’s arm jovially, “this guy wouldn’t let you go. Guess now we know why.” He chortles as he looks pointedly at the Mark peeking out from Shiro’s rolled up sleeves.

Keith shifts restlessly. Their story is infamous at the SEB headquarters, something Keith has never been entirely comfortable with. There had been a lot of stares and whispers when he’d first started consulting. 

Iverson continues blithely. “Well, it all worked out well in the end. You’re staying with us, right? Now you’re free and clear?”

Keith takes a big gulp of his drink, buying time. The truth is, he’s not sure. He hadn’t expected to enjoy consulting for SEB so much, but he also misses tattooing like a missing limb. He can’t imagine not going back to it, especially now that he’s gotten a taste of the exhilaration that comes with creating real Soulmarks. 

Shiro’s arm slides around Keith’s waist, a firm line of silent comfort and solidarity around him. “I’m still considering my options,” Keith finally says. Shiro gives his hip a little squeeze, probably proud of Keith’s diplomatic reply. “Maybe… part-time?” he offers hesitantly.

Iverson rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose we might be able to work with that. I’ll speak with Sanda on Monday.” Keith lets out a breath. Sanda hates him, but at least he’s not the one who has to deal with her. 

Iverson pats him on the back again. “I know you don’t want to spend all your time talking to an old man. I’ll let you get back to your party. Congratulations, Kogane.”

“Uh. Thanks,” Keith says. When Iverson totters off, Keith turns to Shiro. “Am I in the Twilight Zone?”

Shiro laughs. “That wasn’t too bad. You should have seen him at the Christmas party last year.” Keith wrinkles his nose, not sure he wants to know. Shiro chuckles again, pulling Keith flush against his front. 

Keith blushes, heart kicking up. Their relationship has been… nebulous. They’ve been going slow, doing solo and couples therapy, working through the shit storm their relationship was born in and getting to know each other for real. They’ve become friends; friends who touch far more often and far more intimately than the normal bounds of friendship usually dictate. They’ve kissed once or twice, but it had devolved so quickly into more that they’d mutually decided it would be better to hold off. Being intimate when there was such a power imbalance between them is something neither of them wants.

Except there’s no longer a power imbalance, Keith realizes. Shiro seems to come to the same conclusion. His eyes darken as they flicker down to Keith’s lips. Keith’s eyes widen as Shiro licks his own lips slowly. “Hey,” Shiro says with a quiet smile. His hand presses more firmly into Keith’s lower back.

“Hey,” Keith whispers.

“Keith, I—”

“Keithy-Cat!” Lance barrels into them, nearly knocking them over. Shiro lets go of Keith to steady Lance with a laugh. “Keithy-Cat, we have a surprise for you. I can’t believe we forgot!” Lance slings an arm around Keith and grins drunkenly at him. “You’re gonna love it. C’mon, Shiro!” Lance wraps his hands around Shiro’s bicep and tugs him forcefully away.

“What…” Keith says in confusion. Shiro shrugs, grinning as he’s pulled to the living room, where someone has shoved the couch and coffee table back against the wall to clear a space.

“Attention, everyone!” Lance shouts, waving his arms around wildly as Pidge, Hunk, Matt and Allura join him and Shiro in the cleared space. Keith wanders over, completely baffled. “Gather round everyone, come on, that’s it. Good. Alright, as everyone knows, our dear Keithy-Cat—” Keith groans and drops his head in his hands. So much for keeping that nickname in the family. “—has finally earned his freedom today. To celebrate this momentous occasion, we’ve put together a little performance. Pidge, hit it!”

Keith watches, dumbfounded, as his friends and soulmate proceed to do a choreographed dance to George Michael’s _ Freedom ‘90_. They’re objectively terrible—all of them are inebriated and uncoordinated on some level and none of them aside from Lance are very good dancers to begin with. The song is completely cheesy and Matt is singing along in an off-key warble.

Keith is crying by the end. “From laughter,” he defends as he’s mobbed and hoisted onto Hunk and Shiro’s shoulders for the finale. “You guys are such idiots.”

“Yeah, but you love us,” Hunk tells him when they finally let him down.

“I do,” Keith admits. He hugs each of them again, ending with Shiro. He leans his forehead against Shiro’s chest. “The song was your idea, wasn’t it.”

“Of course,” Shiro says smugly, hugging him close. “ George Michael may have left Wham! but his music is still great.”

“It_ is _ kind of appropriate,” Keith admits begrudgingly. “Thank you.” 

Shiro just hums and holds him tighter. Keith closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the warmth and comfort. Shiro’s embrace is a comfy blanket, soothing the nerves that are starting to fray from all the sights and sounds and excitement. His heart ticks like a metronome under Keith’s ear, gently nudging Keith’s own heart to beat in time. Keith sighs.

“You okay?” Shiro murmurs against the top of his head. Keith nods.

“It’s just a lot,”he admits.

“You want to go to your room?” Shiro offers. Keith pulls back far enough to raise an eyebrow at him. Shiro colors beautifully. “To get away from the noise,” he clarifies with a little pout. “Or we could kick everyone out. It’s your party, you get to say when it ends.”

Keith shakes his head. The people around him are having fun, talking and drinking and dancing in the space that had been cleared for the performance. He doesn’t want to take that from them just because he’s going into sensory overload. “My room,” he says. 

“Okay. I’ll make sure someone knows where you went.” Shiro squeezes him one last time, then pulls away. Keith feels the loss keenly. He also can’t help but notice Shiro had used the word _ you _ rather than _ we. _ He frowns, reaching out to grab hold of Shiro’s wrist before he can move away.

“You aren’t coming?”

Shiro stills. His eyes rove over Keith’s face like he’s trying to assess Keith’s current mindset. “Do you want me to?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I thought that was the implication,” he teases. Shiro doesn’t seem to be in a teasing mood, however.

“I know the power balance is more equal now, but that doesn’t mean we have to just jump right into—”

Keith cuts him off. “To sleep, Shiro. Maybe a bit of cuddling or kissing but to be honest, I’m probably going to pass out the minute I lay down. If you don’t want to come, that’s okay, but I’d like it if you did.”

Shiro’s shoulders relax and he smiles. “That sounds good,” he says softly. “I’ll let someone know where _ we’re _ going, then. I’ll be right in.”

Keith lets go of his hand with a little nod and turns to make his way to his room. It takes him longer than he would like; he gets stopped every few feet by well-wishers and while he appreciates it, every happy cheer and clap on the back or hug has him gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to flinch. Making it to the mostly empty hallway is a relief. He practically bolts for his room at the end of the hallway.

Someone had had the foresight to tape big _ DO NOT ENTER _ signs to each of the bedroom doors, he’s grateful to see. Most of his old schoolmates are much younger than him and still in the _ let's get smashed and find the nearest bed to fuck on _ stage, and frankly, he wouldn’t put it past some of the more inebriated older crowd to do the same. 

Keith shuts his door behind him. The cool, darkened room is like a balm over his flayed nerves. He can still hear the party going on, but it’s muffled and ignorable. His bed looks like a safe haven and the urge to collapse on it is overwhelming, but first…

Keith does a quick scan of his room. It’s not too messy, but there are some clothes that didn’t quite make it into the hamper, and his desk and the surrounding area look like a tornado hit it—pencils, pens and paintbrushes are scattered in with sketchbooks, work documents, old school books and assignments. His trashcan is overflowing. He quickly triages, scooping the clothes up and compacting the trash can as much as he can to fit everything in. He’s busy trying to corral his art supplies and stack his desk piles into slightly more organized desk piles when the door opens behind him. He spins to meet Shiro’s amused look.

“Shut up,” Keith says, pointing a finger in warning. “Not a word.”

Shiro holds his hands up innocently. “Word about what?”

Keith snorts. “Exactly.” He sits on his bed and holds out a hand to Shiro. It’s not the first time they’ve laid down together, or even napped together, but something feels different. There’s a certain tension that thickens the air between them. Keith’s heart quickens as Shiro sits down next to him. They’re quiet as they kick off their shoes. Keith hesitates, then goes for broke and shimmies his jeans off too, leaving him in his trunks and T-shirt. He wriggles under the covers as Shiro shucks his own pants. Keith holds the blanket up for Shiro to join him.

They end up facing each other, a bare few inches between them. Keith takes in all the tiny details of Shiro’s face—the flecks of brown and yellow in his gray eyes, the way his scar is a little puckered up on one side. His ears stick out and the silver in his hair is starting to spread to his temples. Keith wonders what Shiro sees written on his own face, if he notices the faint, silvery scar that stripes down his cheek and pulls the corner of his eye wonky, courtesy of the business end of a foster father’s belt when he was ten. Maybe the eyes scanning him so intently are cataloguing the slight bump of a badly set broken nose and the too sharp canines that fueled high school rumors that he was secretly a vampire.

Whatever it is, it makes Shiro’s expression go soft and a little dopey. “Hey,” he whispers, the word hanging in the intimate space between them.

“Hey,” Keith whispers back. Shiro reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Keith’s ear, then cups his cheek. Keith nuzzles into the hand, then takes a chance and presses his lips to Shiro’s wrist.

Shiro sucks a sharp breath in through his nose. Encouraged, Keith shutters his eyelids and opens his mouth just enough for Shiro to feel a hint of teeth and the damp heat of his breath.

Shiro bites his lip. “Keith,” he starts, a hint of warning in his voice, but doesn’t pull away. Keith tangles his fingers with Shiro’s and uses the hold to bring Shiro’s arm closer so he can lay a kiss against his Soulmark.

Shiro shudders, eyes fluttering shut. Keith feels the hairs on Shiro’s arm raise with goosebumps. Keith can’t help it; his lips curl up in a smile against Shiro’s skin. He nips just under the lion’s eye and feels the sting over his heart.

_ “Keith,” _ Shiro whines, legs shifting restlessly against Keith’s. “I thought you were tired.”

He is. “I am.” Even with desire trying to take the wheel, exhaustion is still winning, pulling his head into the pillow. He lays one more kiss over Shiro’s Soulmark, then sighs and uses his hold to pull Shiro’s arm over him as he turns on his other side. Shiro spoons up behind him, shifting automatically so his arm lines up with Keith’s Soulmark. The feeling of connection is muted by Keith’s T-shirt, but warm, tingling contentment still spreads through him. Keith sinks into it and the mattress. He barely feels the whisper of Shiro’s lips against the back of his neck before he’s asleep.

***

Keith wakes up fever hot and horny, grinding his hips lazily into the mattress. He stops as soon as the sleep haze wears off, but it doesn’t stop the simmer in his body or the sweat beading along his hairline. 

Part of that is because they’ve shifted in their sleep, rolling so Shiro covers him like a blanket, pressing him into the mattress. Shiro is snoring lightly, little whistles of air due to the scar tissue bisecting his nose. Keith knows he’s in love because he finds it cute rather than annoying.

Keith kicks his legs to get the covers off his feet in an effort to cool down. The movement makes Shiro shift against him, arm tightening around Keith briefly as he nuzzles into Keith with a happy murmur. 

Keith’s eyes shoot open, wide awake in a flash. Shiro is hard against him. Really hard, and really huge. Keith’s body clenches involuntarily at the sense memory of having all that inside him. He tilts his hips back into Shiro without thinking and is rewarded when Shiro grinds against him, cock sliding against the cleft of his ass. It’s tantalizingly close but frustratingly far from where he really wants it to be, thanks to their underwear. Still, it’s not all bad; the roll of Shiro’s hips push Keith’s own into the mattress. The friction is delicious. Keith bites his knuckle to hold back the whimper when Shiro does it again, and then again, setting a rhythm that threatens to send Keith over the edge embarrassingly fast.

He should wake Shiro up. This is wrong. It’s a violation of Shiro’s trust and they haven’t talked about sex, not really, and he should stop this, and…

Shiro freezes. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” Shiro says guiltily. He starts to pull away. 

Keith grabs him and yanks him back. “Jesus, Shiro, don’t stop! What the fuck?” he growls. Shiro makes a sound that can only be described as a _ meep. _

“K—Keith!” he stutters.

Keith cranes his head so he can look Shiro right in the eyes. “What?” he challenges.

Shiro stares at him, stunned. Keith grins fiercely back. Shiro curses, and then his hand is in Keith’s hair, tilting his head so he can press a filthy kiss into Keith’s mouth. “You are impossible,” he says when he pulls away a few moments later.

Keith presses his ass back into Shiro. “You aren’t moving away,” he counters.

Shiro rolls onto him, covering Keith and pressing him into the mattress. “I’m not,” he agrees. He kisses the side of Keith’s neck, just over his pulse. “We should probably talk about this though.”

“We should,” Keith agrees. When Shiro starts to retreat, Keith stops him again. “I can multitask. Can you?”

Shiro buries his forehead in Keith’s shoulder. Keith can feel him shaking with laughter, small tremors that jostle him and the bed. “I can,” he says in a breathless voice. He backs it up with a roll of his hips against Keith. “I’m worried we’re rushing into this just because we can.”

Keith groans, both in pleasure and dismay. Apparently they’re really doing this. “We might be,” he admits. He stifles a gasp at the sweet friction on his dick. “But I don’t think we are. We’ve been doing this—_fuck—” _ the scrape of fabric over his hole is maddening; Shiro’s cock is big and heavy enough to spread his cheeks even through their underwear, “—we’ve been doing this weird friends-or-boyfriends dance for over six months now. We’ve gotten to know each other for real this time, we’ve been making a ton of progress at couple’s therapy, Dr. Ryner even said so. We’re—_oh God, right there—_we’re _ soulmates. _ Isn’t that enough?”

Not that it's been easy. They've had more than their fair share of fights, Keith angry at Shiro's treatment and spitting cruelty one moment, then repentant and insecure the next, while Shiro vacillated between defensiveness and over-the-top guilt by turn. Dr. Ryner had watched on, ready with a nudge or pointed word to get them back on track until they could do it for themselves.

It hasn't been easy, but maybe this can be.

Shiro bites the ball of Keith’s shoulder to muffle his small sounds of pleasure. “Good enough for me,” he gasps. He snakes a hand underneath Keith and into his underwear to wrap around his cock.

“Good enough for me too.” Keith sighs and wriggles happily into Shiro’s warm grip.

“Glad we had this talk.”

“Me too.” Keith reaches behind him, grabs a handful of Shiro’s hair, and pulls, hard. “Now fuck me already.”

Shiro whines. “_Fuck.” _His hand squeezes around Keith and Keith is, quite suddenly, right on the edge. 

Keith moans long and low, working his hips back and forth restlessly. He can’t decide if he wants to push back into Shiro or screw his dick into Shiro’s hand. His hand tightens in Shiro’s hair; he bites a sob into his knuckles. His thigh muscles tighten as orgasm swirls tighter and tighter in his stomach.

“Shh, baby, I’m gonna take of you, okay?” Shiro croons into his ear as his hand speeds up. “You’re going to let me take care of you, right?” Keith nods mindlessly, burying his forehead in the pillow. “Good boy.”

That’s it. That’s all she wrote. The praise digs into his brain and curls around his pleasure center. He cries out, probably way too loudly for thin apartment walls, but he can’t even care because he’s coming harder than he has since… well, since the last time Shiro had touched him like this. He pants, open-mouthed and dazed, as Shiro crushes him to the mattress and thrusts against him a few more times. Shiro grunts and stills with a sigh. Keith can feel wetness soaking into the back of his underwear. Objectively, it should be disgusting but Keith is too busy wrapping his head around the words _ good boy _ to pay attention.

Also, trying to breathe. Shiro is _ heavy_. Keith wriggles under him until Shiro shifts to the side so he’s no longer squishing him. Keith settles back into his hold, content to let Shiro drop kisses against his neck and shoulder. Quiet falls over them. The apartment is silent as well; they must have slept through the rest of the party. There’s a stillness to the air that only comes deep in the night, when everyone and everything is asleep.

“So,” Shiro says eventually. There’s a hint of hesitance in his tone.

“So?” Keith prompts when Shiro doesn’t continue right away.

“Was that okay?”

Keith rolls in Shiro’s arms so he can meet his eyes. “Which part? The amazing sex? The mind blowing orgasm?”

“The whole... good boy thing,” Shiro says, choosing to ignore Keith’s snarkiness. “I just. I thought you might like that sort of thing?” He waves a hand in the air. “You know, the whole…”

He doesn’t say the word hanging between them. He doesn’t have to. Keith bites his lip. “Do you?” he asks. 

Shiro runs a finger along Keith’s lip, gently prying it from Keith’s teeth and soothing the sting. “I like taking care of you,” he says quietly. “However that may be.”

Keith kisses the tip of his finger, feeling oddly shy. Vulnerable. “Then. Yeah, maybe.” He presses his forehead to Shiro’s chest. “I like being good for you,” he admits to the comforting beat of Shiro’s heart. He’s been called many things; good is pretty close to the bottom of the list. 

But he wants to be. He wants to be good, to be sweet, and kind, and feel Shiro’s praise heavy and warm like a weighted blanket. It probably says something about his psyche, but Keith isn’t ready to look that deeply inside.

Shiro draws him in closer. “You are. You’re so good for me, baby, always.” He kisses the crown of Keith’s head. 

Keith closes his eyes and basks in the glow of Shiro’s affection. He pulls back eventually to lay his own kisses against Shiro’s lips, cheeks, nose. “What about you?” he asks. “What do you like? Anything you want?”

Shiro is quiet. Too quiet. Keith lays his hands on Shiro’s chest, then slides them up to cup Shiro’s jaw. “Shiro?” 

“It’s just. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it,” he hedges.

Keith frowns. “You can’t know until you tell me,” he says softly. “Do you trust me?” He waits with bated breath, half expecting Shiro to say no. It’s not like their relationship was built on trust, no matter how much they’ve worked on it since.

Shiro crushes Keith to him, pressing a hard kiss to his lips. “Of course I do,” he says when he pulls away. “With every part of me. That’s… kind of a part of it. I want to prove that to you, and to me. But it’s.” He stops again. He closes his eyes and lets out a shuddery breath. “I want you to fuck me,” he says. 

“Uh, done and _ done_,” Keith says. “I am very down with that.”

“And choke me while you’re doing it.”

Keith goes completely still, brain stuttering to a halt. He’s not naive; he’s had plenty of kinky one-night-stands and spent more than his fair share of time on the more hardcore parts of the internet. It’s just not something he’d expected from Shiro.

Shiro must mistake his quiet for a rejection. “It’s okay,” he says, running a gentle hand through Keith’s hair. “You don’t have to, I completely understand. It’s not exactly for everyone.” Shiro smiles warmly at him, and it’s completely genuine. It really would be fine if Keith didn’t want to.

“I didn’t say no,” Keith tells him. “It’s just, help me understand why? I mean, is this something you’ve done before?”

“A few times,” Shiro admits. “But that’s not really why.” He takes Keith’s hands and pulls them away from his jaw. He kisses his knuckles, then his wrists, then trails a finger over the vulnerable bump of Keith’s Adam’s apple. “That day. I choked you out.”

Keith swallows hard, jaw aching with the memory of jamming it into Shiro’s elbow. He can still feel the dizzy panic from the lack of blood flow, every pulse of his heart as blackness crept in, knowing that there was no tapping out this time. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely.

“I dream about it,” Shiro admits in a hushed voice, eyes locked on Keith’s throat. “You were struggling so much, and then you just. You just went limp.” He lets out a shuddery breath, eyes pinching shut.

“I was faking,” Keith says. He turns his hands in Shiro’s and squeezes reassuringly. “I was fine. And it’s not like you’ve never had me in a rear chokehold before.”

Shiro opens his eyes. “This was different,” he rasps harshly. “Don’t pretend it wasn’t.” Keith shrinks a little under Shiro’s admonition. Shiro’s expression instantly transforms into something soft and sorry. He kisses Keith softly. “It was different,” he says again. “I thought I might have really hurt you. I was so angry at you for marking me with real ink. When you fought me, I went into soldier mode, and Keith, I didn’t care if I hurt you. Do you realize that? I didn’t care. You were just an enemy that needed to be subdued and I—”

“Whoa, hey, Shiro. Breathe. It’s okay. I’m okay,” Keith shushes, alarmed. They’ve never really talked about their fight, or how it affected either of them. Keith hadn’t known Shiro _ had _ been so affected. 

Shiro stares at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I felt something crunch,” he whispers. “Or give or… I don’t know. And I snapped out of it, but you were already limp.”

It was probably his jaw. He hadn’t noticed at the time; his jaw popped and cracked with alarming regularity, even before their fight. “I’m okay,” he says again, more firmly. He would press the words straight into Shiro’s brain if he could.

Shiro nods slowly. “When you kicked me after, I was so happy. And then I was pissed _ because _ I was happy, and then guilty because I was pissed.” He taps his temple. “It’s still all jumbled up in here. Mostly the guilt, now.”

“Have you talked to Dr. Shay about this?” Keith asks. This sounds more like something for Shiro’s therapist than any bedroom activities.

“Yes. Extensively,” Shiro reassures him. “But the guilt’s still there. I just think, if you did it to me, if we could be even in some way…” He shrugs with a crooked, helpless little smile.

Keith studies him. He can see the struggle on Shiro’s face as he fights not to cover up how vulnerable he must be feeling right now.

“No,” Keith decides firmly. Shiro’s eyes widen before he casts them downward to hide his disappointment. Keith ducks down so he can meet Shiro’s gaze. “But I _ will _ let you choke me.”

Shiro jerks back, shocked. “What?”

Keith sighs and pulls away. This seems more like a sitting up conversation. Shiro follows his lead, sitting cross-legged so their knees touch. Keith rests a hand on Shiro’s leg. “Shiro. What you’re asking for is punishment. If it were fun, kinky BDSM type punishment that would be different, but I’m not going to let you turn me into a tool for your self-flagellation.”

Shiro shakes his head, horrified. “That’s not… I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Keith says gently. He rubs a thumb over Shiro’s kneecap, then takes his flesh arm. He traces the lines of Shiro’s Soulmark. “But I also know a little something about guilt, and having me choke you isn’t the solution.”

“But choking _ you _ again is?” Shiro asks tersely. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t pull away.

Keith shrugs. “I mean, I’m not a therapist obviously, but it seems to me like it’s not the guilt that’s the problem. It’s that you don’t trust yourself.” Shiro blinks at him blankly. “Look, you said it yourself. You went full soldier mode and didn’t care if you hurt me. And yeah, you feel guilty, but you’re mostly scared, aren’t you? Of yourself. Of the fact that you weren’t in control of yourself. Or maybe that you were too much in control, I don’t know. But either way, I think you keep having dreams because you’re scared of the fact that you’re capable of hurting someone. Hurting me.” 

“I.” Shiro frowns, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. I think you might be right.” He chuffs out a small laugh. “You are so smart, you know that?”

Keith looks away, embarrassed and pleased by the praise. “Yeah, well. When it comes to other people, maybe,” he mumbles. He shakes his head. “Anyway, I think you need to prove to yourself that you can stay in control.” He takes Shiro’s hand and places it against the base of his throat, ignoring the way his heart pounds in anticipation.

Shiro looks at his hand, feather light against Keith’s throat. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, hard. “I could hurt you.”

“But you won’t.”

“I’ve hurt others. Badly.” Shiro shakes his head with a grimace. Keith knows the broad strokes of what happened to Shiro during his time being held captive. He knows Shiro struggles with PTSD, and bloody dreams of bloody faces and his own bloody hands. He’s seen Shiro on his bad days when his temper is short, when he refuses to spar and instead beats his frustration out on a punching bag. When a car door slamming is enough to make him flinch. He’s seen Shiro on his really bad days, when he’s curled up in bed with the curtains pulled at 3PM on a Tuesday.

He also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he has nothing to fear from Shiro.

“But you won’t hurt me.” Keith presses Shiro’s hand a little harder against his throat. “It doesn’t have to be today, or anytime soon. But I trust you, with every bit of me.” He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, I’ve heard it feels great.” 

He lets go of Shiro’s hand. Shiro keeps his where it is, fingers pressing tenderly into Keith’s clavicle. Shiro’s smile, when it comes, is small but real. “It does feel good. Intense, but good.” 

Shiro sighs and drops his hand. “Do you know how to safeword if you can’t speak?” he asks, then huffs and runs fingers through his hair. “Jesus, I don’t even know your regular safeword. Do you have a safeword? Have you ever done anything like this?” He’s starting to sound stressed again, overwhelmed. “Maybe we should wait.”

“We can,” Keith agrees calmly, though he can’t deny that, now that he’s gotten used to the idea, he’s a little disappointed. “But for what it’s worth, yes I’ve done things like this before and my safeword is technically broccoli but I prefer the red-yellow-green system. Hard limits are most bodily fluids, serious pain-play, and. Uh. Handcuffs.” Shiro grimaces, looking contrite, but it needs to be said. “Um. Holding me down or tying me up in other ways is okay though. And if I need to safeword but I can’t talk, well, I’ll kick you. Or hit you, whatever. You’ll know, trust me.”

Shiro nods seriously. He looks like he’s cataloguing and filing the information away. It’s cute and gives Keith a warm, fuzzy feeling to know he’s taking it so seriously. “Okay. Okay,” Shiro says, still nodding. “Okay. I don’t like being tied up. At all. No blindfolds, don’t call me _ sir _, and don’t yell or try to humiliate me. Being bossy’s okay though. I kind of like it when you take what you want.” 

Keith snorts. “Well, that’s good.”

“Brat.”

“Yup.” Keith grins smugly at him. Shiro rolls his eyes. He places his hand in the center of Keith’s chest, directly over his Soulmark, and pushes him down flat on the bed. Keith unfolds easily. 

Shiro straddles him and leans in to kiss his neck and whisper, "And you're more than welcome to call me daddy. If you want." He nips at the corner of Keith's jaw. Keith tries unsuccessfully to hide his whimper. He's not sure he can fully cross that line yet; if feels like too much, even as he's laying here preparing to have some of the kinkiest sex of his life. It settles something in him to know it would be welcomed if he did, though.

Shiro sobers as he sits back up. “Hit me _ hard _, Keith. I mean it. And the second you start to struggle, I’m stopping. I don’t care if you want me to or not. Understand?” Keith nods, cock jumping in anticipation, but Shiro still doesn’t look satisfied. “I need to hear it.”

“If I want you to stop, I’ll make sure you know. I promise.” He presses his hand over the one on his chest and hopes Shiro can feel the steadiness of his heartbeat.

“Also, I’m going to be fucking you,” Shiro adds, like an afterthought.

Keith whines. “What? Why?”

Shiro’s grin takes on a dirty edge. “Because I need to be able to concentrate, and that’s not going to happen with you inside me.”

Keith groans, arousal bolting through him at the thought of Shiro so overwhelmed he can’t think about anything but Keith’s cock inside him. He reaches up and tugs on Shiro’s shirt. “Take your clothes off. Now.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. "You want to try that a little nicer?"

Keith rolls his eyes, but he's squirming inside. "Take your clothes off, _ please_." 

Shiro runs an approving hand over Keith's head. "There's my good boy."

Keith closes his eyes and shudders. "Fuck, Shiro…" When he blinks them open again, he's rewarded with a full view of Shiro's torso and is struck again by how beautiful he is, scars and all. "Shiro," he breathes. He lets his eyes roam but keeps his hands to himself for now.

"Yeah?" Shiro asks. "What about these?" He plays with the waistband of his boxer briefs. They're still stained with come from earlier which is way, way hotter than it has any right to be.

Keith's throat clicks when he swallows. "Those too. Please," he adds belatedly. 

Shiro grins approvingly as he stands to slide them off. He tugs at the leg of Keith's trunks. "These?" Keith nods wordlessly, lifting his hips to assist but otherwise staying splayed out where Shiro put him. He settles when Shiro straddles him again and gives him a slow, lingering kiss.

Finally, Shiro runs a hand down Keith's chest, pausing at the hem of his T-shirt. "This?" He asks quietly. 

Keith bites his lip. Shiro has seen him shirtless on more than one occasion, but never in this context, and usually only when he's changing after a sparring match. Slowly, he nods his head and raises his arms. Shiro's sunshine grin is worth any lingering hesitance to bare his heart and literal soul.

Shiro works the shirt over his head carefully, then gazes at Keith, eyes sweeping over the Soulmark that binds them. Then, he curls forward and places the softest of kisses right in the center. Shivery, tingling warmth spreads out from the contact, leaving him buzzing like a live-wire with every hair standing on edge. He reaches for Shiro's arm and returns the favor, running his lips over the Mark. He keeps his eyes trained on Shiro's face. A thrill runs through Keith as Shiro's eyelashes flutter. When they open again, his eyes are filled with molten heat. 

Keith isn't sure if Shiro brings his arm down to Keith’s chest, or if Keith pulls it there. When the edges of the Marks connect, he closes his eyes and soaks it in. The sharp shock of pleasure is there like every other time they've touched, but it's tempered by warm comfort, fondness, and love. Everything that Shiro feels for him echoes through the connection, just as his own feelings reverberate back, a feedback loop that leaves him just as likely to cry for happiness as it is to make him come.

It's too strong, overwhelming like a second orgasm rolling straight over the first without recovery. He has to let go, allow Shiro to draw away even as he wants to clutch him closer. He wonders if the sensation will weaken as they grow used to it. He wonders if he even wants it to.

Shiro leans down to kiss him, slow and soft. “Where do you keep your lube?”

“Bedside drawer, where else?” 

Shiro rolls his eyes, but leans to the side in an impressive feat of strength and agility. Keith takes the opportunity to feel up his abs and obliques as they stretch and flex. “Like what you feel?” Shiro asks smugly as he returns to his sitting position, holding the bottle of lube. Keith doesn’t bother to dignify that with an answer, which Shiro doesn’t seem to expect anyway. “Found the lube and a frankly impressive number of toys, but no condoms.”

Keith blinks. It’s been so long since he’s had sex with anyone else that it hadn’t even occurred to him to buy condoms. “I… shit.” They stare at each other blankly. “Well,” Keith starts hesitantly, “if you don’t mind, then I don’t mind, and I’m clean, so…”

Shiro’s jaw goes loose, speechless. “Really? I mean, I’m clean too, but are you serious?”

Keith licks his lips, heart pounding. “Very.”

“Then yeah. Yeah, I am very okay with it too.” 

Keith lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He smiles giddily. Shiro smiles back. “Okay.” Keith nods at the lube. “You planning on using that any time soon?”

“Patience, brat. You want to be good for me, right?”

Keith’s hips twitch involuntarily, rocking Shiro forward. “Yes,” he says in a small voice. 

Shiro pushes Keith’s bangs off his forehead, smiling affectionately down at him. “Good. Prove it to me then.” Keith’s cheeks flush with warmth; it spreads to the rest of his body as Shiro knees backwards on the bed and pushes Keith’s knees apart, settling between them. He pats one of his shoulders. “Leg up,” he commands.

Keith does as he says so quickly it’s amazing he doesn’t knee Shiro in the head. Shiro chuckles at his eagerness, kissing the inside of Keith’s knee. The touch burns through Keith’s veins like quickfire. He inhales sharply, then bites his lips to muffle a sound as Shiro covers Keith’s dick with one large hand and squeezes once before pulling away to focus on the lube. Keith squirms with anticipation. He’s torn between watching Shiro and shutting his eyes and just _ feeling. _ Then Shiro pushes the first finger in and the choice is taken from him. He thuds his head back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut with shock and pleasure.

Shiro is using his prosthetic hand. Shiro’s normal fingers are surprisingly slender for such a large man, though their length sends a thrill through Keith just seeing them. But Shiro’s prosthesis, well…

Each of Shiro’s prosthetic fingers is at least as thick as two of Keith’s. 

The coolness of the metal is startling at first, but it quickly warms and all Keith can feel is the stretch and press of it. Keith gasps, dick jumping when Shiro angles upward and hits his prostate dead on. “Fuck, Shiro.”

“You like that, baby? Feel good?”

“Yeah,” Keith moans, hands kneading restlessly at the sheet. “More. I want more.”

“You want more, what?” Shiro asks, stilling his hand.

Keith doesn’t even hesitate this time. “I want more, please. Please, can I have more?”

Shiro kisses his knee, then his thigh. “Of course you can, baby. Anything you want.” He pulls out and this time when he enters Keith again, the stretch is borderline too much, but in a way that has Keith rocking his hips into it. Keith mewls helplessly. “Fuck, baby,” Shiro murmurs. “You love that so much, don’t you?”

Keith nods mindlessly as Shiro pumps his fingers in and out of him, slow and steady. It feels good, so good, but...

He wants to feel _ Shiro_. The heat and give of his flesh entering Keith, pushing him to his limits. The prosthesis feels good, but it’s a little too much like his toys. That’s not what he’s craving. “Please,” he whispers.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Keith opens his eyes and meets Shiro’s. “I want _ you. _ Want to feel you, please, Shiro.” He holds a hand out, reaching for Shiro. 

Shiro clasps Keith’s hand in his, drawing it to his mouth to kiss the back. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” His fingers retreat, leaving Keith empty and aching, but only so Shiro can slick up his own cock and guide it to brush against Keith’s hole.

Keith half expects Shiro to tease him, but he’s gratified when Shiro just presses, slowly and inexorably, into him. Keith’s mouth drops open, pleasure-pain radiating through him. 

Shiro’s eyes are screwed up tight as he pants. “God, you feel so good,” he hisses, hips twitching another few centimeters deeper. “I forgot how…” His eyes open. He looks down at Keith with awe and devotion written all over his face. “You’re so good, baby.”

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, because his mind is too blissfully distracted to think of anything else. He spasms involuntarily around Shiro, body trying to get used to the intrusion. 

Shiro moans, hips shaking with the effort of keeping still. “You okay?” he asks, voice strained. 

Keith clenches again experimentally, ignoring Shiro’s answering whimper to focus on his own body’s signals. The little sizzles of pain are fading fast. “Yeah, I’m good,” he decides. He smiles and scrapes one hand through Shiro’s hair, down his neck and across his shoulder, before sweeping back up to press against the knob at the top of his spine. “Move. Please.”

Shiro leans down to kiss him. It strains the leg still slung over Shiro’s shoulder, but Keith can’t find it in himself to care about the stretch when it means he gets Shiro’s lips on his and Shiro’s dick a few precious millimeters deeper. Shiro seems to notice, however, because he pulls back and drops Keith’s leg down before leaning in for another kiss. Keith hums happily, scritching at the short hairs at the base of Shiro’s head as Shiro starts to move inside him.

Shiro fucks him slow and deep, long strokes filling Keith so perfectly that tears prickle in his eyes. Shiro keeps the pace steady, even when Keith tries to urge him faster by wrapping his legs around his waist and digging his heels into Shiro’s ass. Pleasure is a banked fire inside Keith, an ember that glows but never quite ignites. It’s infuriating. Keith wants to scream at Shiro to go faster, but something keeps him quiet. Fear of Shiro slowing down more, maybe, or maybe he’s scared of the gentle rebuke he knows would come if he demanded more. 

“You’re being so good for me, baby, so patient and sweet,” Shiro croons. Keith blushes so hard he’s lightheaded with it. Sweet is not a word that has _ ever _ been applied to him, but the way Shiro says it makes it clear that he means it. Keith doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just arches his back and digs his nails into Shiro’s shoulders. Sweat beads along Shiro’s hairline, so Keith knows that staying so slow is wearing on him as well. Despite that, he doesn’t speed up or even show any inclination that he plans to. Keith is going to go out of his mind if this keeps up much longer.

“Shiro, please, _ please,” _ he whines desperately. How does he always end up here, begging and frustrated and utterly turned on because of it? “Please, I can’t—”

“Shh.” Shiro leans down and cups Keith’s face, laying kisses to his forehead and the bridge of his nose, each eyebrow and cheekbone, before dipping to his lips. He kisses Keith until Keith’s lashes flutter and he can barely keep his eyes open. When Shiro pulls away, Keith instinctively clings to him. Shiro chuckles, sweeping his thumbs over the soft skin under Keith’s eyes. “You’re so cute like this, all needy.”

Keith wants to scowl because he is _not_ _cute_, but part of him kind of wants to be, for Shiro. He bites his lip and tries to widen his eyes innocently as he leans his cheek into Shiro’s hand. He has no idea if he achieves the look he’s going for, but the way Shiro’s lips twitch and curl tells him that it doesn’t matter.

Shiro brushes one last kiss over his mouth before letting his hands drift down Keith’s jaw to rest lightly on the column of his neck. Keith’s breath hitches and his heart kicks into double-time. Shiro’s gaze is deadly serious now. “Still okay?” he asks, applying the barest hint of pressure to Keith’s trachea.

Keith tilts his head back in response, baring more of his throat. “Green,” he says quietly. 

Shiro closes his eyes and nods, then keeps nodding, like he’s psyching himself up. When he looks at Keith again, his eyes are so intense and focused that Keith shivers. Shiro moves his prosthetic hand next to Keith’s head for balance. Then his fingers tighten, pressing into the soft skin just under the angle of Keith’s jaw. He lets go almost immediately before doing it again, pulsing his grip to let Keith get used to the sensation. The anticipation is almost too much to bear. Every time Shiro’s warm fingers press against his carotids, he wonders if this is the time, if this is when Shiro will finally choke him for real. Every time, he lets go again before Keith can really feel it. 

Keith growls, patience running out. “Come on, Shiro, I’m not going to break.”

Shiro takes a deep breath. “I know,” he says. He pulls almost all the way out of Keith, pausing with just the head inside. “Ready?” he asks.

“Been ready,” Keith teases him. He makes sure to smile to soften the words. 

Shiro’s lips quirk up for a moment before he gets serious again. This time, when he pushes into Keith, his hand tightens for real. The pressure mixes with the feel of Shiro’s cock dragging inside him, but he barely has time to enjoy it before Shiro loosens again. “Damn it, Shiro!”

“Don’t rush me,” Shiro grits. It suddenly occurs to Keith that Shiro isn’t hesitating for _ his _ sake _ . _

“I’m sorry,” he says in a small voice. Arousal takes second place to concern. “Are you… what color?”

Shiro smiles ruefully, letting his thumb brush against the sharp edge of Keith’s jaw. “Yellow. Well, yellow-green. You’re okay, baby. Just. Let me do this my way, okay?”

Keith nods, chin bumping against Shiro’s hand. “Whatever you need.” He pets a hand through Shiro’s hair and smooths a finger over one eyebrow. “I can wait.” It feels like he might die, but Shiro’s comfort is worth so much more. It’s the entire point, in fact.

Shiro kisses Keith’s hand and begins to move again. He rocks in and out of Keith for several strokes without ever tightening his hand and Keith starts to wonder if they are going to do this at all. Maybe it would be better to wait, after all.

No sooner does he think that than Shiro’s hand finally closes on his throat. He blinks rapidly, face heating up as a wave of light-headedness sweeps over him. For one brief moment, panic rises as he’s abruptly reminded of the last time he’d felt like this in Shiro’s presence. His fingers twitch with the urge to grab Shiro’s hand and pry it away, but he stops himself. If he gives any indication of freaking out, Shiro will stop and they’ll never try this again. 

Shiro lets up a second later. “Open your eyes, baby boy.” Keith gasps despite the fact that Shiro hadn’t restricted his airway at all. He blinks his eyes open. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. “There you are. Color?” Shiro asks, brow furrowed. 

“Green,” Keith says immediately, even though he’s a little shaky. It’s not really a _ bad _ shaky, just the adrenaline flooding his system. He’s fine, or he will be. “Do it again.”

Shiro hesitates for a moment, then nods. When his fingers press in again, Shiro times it with a sharp thrust. Keith’s mouth drops open as dizziness floods over him again, but he keeps his eyes open this time. Seeing the care and affection painted over Shiro’s face quells the flickers of panic. “Again,” he says breathlessly once Shiro releases again.

When Shiro chokes him the third time, the fear and anxiety are gone, making way for sheer physical sensation. And damn does it feel good. Not so much the actual choking, though the dull edge of pain from the pressure is kind of nice. The woozy, light-headed, floaty feeling makes him giddy, though, and the intensity of it lights up every nerve in his body. Everywhere Shiro touches him is turned up to ten; even spots he wouldn’t normally give a second thought seem to have a direct line to his dick. When Shiro releases him after what must be a few seconds but feels like an eternity later, the rush is overwhelming in the best way. His whole body spasms and his eyes roll back in his head. “Oh my God,” he whimpers.

Shiro rubs the tender skin over Keith’s pulse points. Even that little touch sends tremors through Keith. “Feeling good?” Shiro murmurs. His eyes scan Keith’s face, searching for any signs of discomfort.

Keith nods mindlessly. He arches his neck into Shiro’s hand with a whine, wordlessly asking for more. Shiro grins, tension melting out of his shoulders. “Greedy, greedy boy,” he says, but obliges Keith anyway, fingers clamping down. The simmer in Keith’s stomach is rapidly reaching a boil. Then Shiro pegs his prostate just as he releases his grip. 

Keith sees stars. He cries out, the sound ripped from somewhere deep inside. Shiro claps a hand over Keith’s mouth with a breathless, wild laugh. “You gotta stay quiet, baby boy. You don’t want to wake anyone up, do you?”

Keith doesn’t give a good God damn who he wakes up. He wants that feeling back and he says so as soon as Shiro removes the hand from his mouth. Shiro laughs again; the movement jolts the cock inside Keith. He moans. “Fuck me, Shiro, choke me, make me come, I want it, I need... _ please_!” He’s babbling, couldn’t stop the words from flowing out if he tried. He’s out of control—spacey and dazed and ready to quiver right out of his skin—but he also feels safe and warm and loved under the weight of Shiro’s body and gaze. “Please,” he sobs out, scrabbling at Shiro’s shoulders with his fingernails, searching for something, anything, to anchor him.

The words cut off abruptly as Shiro’s grip constricts again. His pace speeds up, hitting Keith’s prostate with every second or third stroke. Then the prosthetic hand wraps around Keith’s cock and strokes him just as Shiro lets go of his neck and clamps a hand over his mouth instead. It’s a smart move because the sound Keith lets out puts all previous ones to shame. He shivers and shakes and trembles through orgasm, every muscle seizing. He might even black out for a second from the pleasure. 

Shiro moans and drops his forehead to Keith’s. He moves his hand to kiss the soul right out of Keith, hips jackrabbiting helplessly. Keith clings to Shiro for dear life until Shiro grunts into the kiss and stills. They pant together, sharing breath in the tiny space left between them. Shiro’s wide, amazed gaze probably mirrors Keith’s.

“Wow,” Keith whispers.

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers back. 

“I did good?” Keith asks hesitantly. He feels stupid, but he needs to hear it so badly, needs to know that he made Shiro happy.

Shiro’s bangs tickle and tangle with Keith’s own as he closes the minuscule space between them to kiss Keith deep and sweet. “You did _ so _ well, baby boy. You were perfect for me,” he assures Keith when he draws back. Keith closes his eyes. Relief floods through him, carrying away the small anxieties and leaving pride and warm contentment in its wake. 

Then Shiro shifts away. His cock slides out of Keith. Keith mourns the loss of fullness and warmth immediately, his hazy, post-orgasm afterglow fading fast. It goes against every instinct to unwrap his arms and legs from Shiro. He shivers, feeling oddly rootless, cold and a little lonely when Shiro rolls away to pluck a T-shirt from the floor. It’s so dumb, because Shiro is _ right here_. He’s right here cleaning Keith gently with the shirt and then himself before dropping it over the side. Keith obediently allows his head to be tipped and tilted however Shiro wants while he searches Keith’s neck for any damage. Whatever he sees must satisfy him because he flops back down onto the bed and pulls Keith firmly into his embrace. Relieved, Keith tucks his arms in tight between them. He shivers again. 

Shiro tugs the blankets over them and draws Keith in closer, chafing Keith’s arms briskly to bring heat into his limbs. “You okay, baby? How’re you feeling?”

Keith buries his face in Shiro’s chest as his shivers turn into shaking. He has to grit his teeth to keep them from chattering. He feels so out of it, somehow both detached from his body and too deeply entrenched to climb to safety. His eyes prickle and he feels a little like crying for no reason. 

“Keith?” Shiro prods again. He sounds worried. Keith doesn’t want to worry him.

“‘M fine,” he slurs automatically, but his voice hitches halfway through the word and it’s so pathetically and obviously untrue. He gives up. “Uh, kind of weird, actually.” He laughs wetly. “Really weird.”

Shiro pulls back. Keith makes a small, involuntary noise and scrabbles to stop him from moving any further. Shiro can’t leave him now, not like this.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Shiro murmurs, quickly wrapping himself back around Keith. “You’re dropping hard, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, feeling small and more than a little pathetic. 

Shiro shakes his head hard, kisses Keith’s forehead and octopuses his limbs around Keith until they’re all tangled up in each other, safe and secure. Something settles in Keith, mellowing out. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, don’t ever be sorry. I should have paid more attention.”

Keith frowns, the guilt in Shiro’s voice breaking through the miasma of emotion he’s stuck in. “Hey, stop that,” he chides.

“What?”

Keith knocks his head against Shiro’s chest. “Stop feeling guilty. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was good, really good. This just… happens sometimes.” Not often and not in a long time, but now that Shiro’s named it for the sub drop that it is, he can deal with it. “I’ll be okay, promise.”

“Anything I can do to help?” 

Keith doesn’t know; usually by the time it hits him, he’s already heading home from whatever one night stand he’d indulged in. Hunk always plied him with copious amounts of sugar before he, Lance, and Pidge dog-piled Keith and made him watch comedies until the trembling subsided.

“Just keep holding me,” he decides. Sugar and comedy can wait until the thought of separating from Shiro is slightly less anxiety inducing. Shiro kisses his forehead again and settles into the mattress more firmly. One hand runs soothingly up and down Keith’s spine over and over. The sensation is relaxing. Keith melts into Shiro sleepily, shivers slowly subsiding. He sighs happily, before something occurs to him. “Are you okay?” he asks belatedly.

“I’m... good, actually,” Shiro says slowly. He sounds almost surprised. He huffs a small laugh. “I think you might have been right.” He tucks his face into Keith’s hair, inhaling deeply. “I’ll feel better when you do, though.”

“I already do,” Keith assures him. He’s not sure if it’s the soulmate bond or just Shiro, but he’s stabilizing unusually fast.

Shiro squeezes him tightly. “Good.” They fall quiet, taking comfort in each other and enjoying the moment. 

“Thank you for this,” Shiro says quietly, just as Keith is about to doze off.

Keith nuzzles into him, then tilts his chin up for a kiss. “Any time,” he says. Then he smirks. “Seriously, any time. That was fucking fantastic.”

Shiro laughs and indulges Keith with another kiss. “We should probably do it at my house next time, though. For your roommates’ sanity, if nothing else.” 

Keith snorts, but doesn’t disagree. He pats Shiro on the chest instead. “Sleep now,” he says, eyes already falling shut.

“Sleep now,” Shiro agrees. 

***

Breakfast the next day is awkward, to say the least. Keith endures Pidge’s glares all the way through his first cup of the ridiculously creamy-sweet coffee Shiro had made him. Finally, he can’t take it anymore and breaks the stalemate. "So, uh, how'd you sleep?"

"I'm sorry, what?” Pidge sneers, cupping a hand around one ear. “I didn't catch that because I deafened myself last night with my headphones."

Hunk grimaces into the remains of his eggs. “At least you _ had _ headphones. I slept on the couch.”

Lance giggles as Shiro turns bright red and Keith just smirks smugly. “Man, I am so happy that I went home with Allura last night.”

“Shut the hell up, Lance,” Pidge growls. She turns a finger on Keith and Shiro. “This was your freebie for the year, got it? Next time I’m gonna break the door down and attack you with a spray bottle or a rolled up newspaper or something.”

“Duly noted,” Keith chokes out around a laugh.

“Good. I’m going back to bed.” She stalks out of the kitchen.

“Happy freedom, Keith,” Hunk says before following her out.

Lance looks back and forth between them. Then he leans his elbows on the table and chin in his hands. “Sooo… details?”

Shiro nearly knocks his chair over in his haste to get up from the table. “Hey Keith, want to finally see my house, now it’s not out of your range?” He pulls a laughing Keith up with him, herding him towards the door without waiting for an answer. Keith follows happily behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Next on the list for this AU: a one-shot from Krolia's POV to answer burning questions such as: why the fuck did she do it, where the fuck did she go, and what the fuck is she doing now.
> 
> Twitter: [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1)  
This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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